


gold & green

by lightninghowells



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Roommates, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, i'm a sad bitch and this is my outlet, it won't get explicit for a while but be warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-06-21 15:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15560328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightninghowells/pseuds/lightninghowells
Summary: dan is a student at the university of manchester and he just moved into his first flat. now all he needs is a roommate.





	1. Chapter 1

Summer had always been Dan’s least favorite season. He could never understand what it was about the sticky heat of these lingering months between school years that so appealed to his classmates. What they saw as long-awaited time to live their young lives and be free of the pressures of on-coming adulthood, Dan saw as two and a half straight months of gruelling inactivity, his bad habit of succumbing to a free schedule finally taking control of his daily life.

Not that sitting numbly in class day after day was necessarily is favorite thing to do, but at least it was _a thing to do_. After all, sometimes shutting off his mind was the only solace he’d find in the day. Maybe not solace, but whatever you could call the feeling that came with the constant hum of his thoughts being drowned out by the lecturer of the hour. If it weren’t for the dry schedule that awaited him on the days he could summon the strength to get out of bed, Dan would certainly give in to the all-too-comforting yet all-too-suffocating lack of motivation his days off promised.

He’d wake up around 12 pm, forgetting to eat or get out of his disgustingly hot bed until 4ish. When evening came he’d watch the same TV shows he’d seen three times already and scroll through Tumblr until his eyes burned of boredom. It was always a battle to decide when to put his phone down in the early hours of the morning. Dan knew if he stayed mindlessly scrolling, the bluelight would ward off whatever intrusive thoughts were anticipating ruling his mind that night. Clicking off the screen was a silent prayer that sleep would come before the weight of his duvet or the overwhelming static of his thoughts became too much to bear.

After about an hour and a half of tossing and turning in his own sweat, he’d need to set music to help him sleep. Something soft and nostalgic, but not too sad or he’d break down from nothing.

Tonight was no different. After watching more than his fair share of The Office, again, Dan decides tonight he’ll try to be brave. He sucks in a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut, begging the higher power he doesn’t believe in to let him sleep before the frustration with his own fucking head consumes him. When he opens his eyes, his thumb is hovering over the Youtube app on his phone. Might as well let the music get a head start. He flicks through his watch history to find the playlist comprised of Panic! at the Disco acoustic sessions he had used as a lullaby the night before. Brendon Urie was a safe bet for nights like these. Not-too-deep lyrics reminiscent of his emo days sung by the smoothest voice of his generation? Sign Dan up. As long as Northern Downpour doesn’t come on, he should be able to make it through the night.

Dan sets the phone on his nightstand - if you could call it that - and tries to implement the techniques his therapist suggested to help him fall asleep. He sucks in another breath, deeper this time, and holds it for a few seconds before letting it go. This always seems to make him dizzy, but Dan tells himself he just needs to get used to it, so he repeats the breathing trick. Once he’s too dizzy to continue, he moves focus from his lungs to his face, trying as he might to relax every muscle in his face. When he gets to this step, Dan often finds his nose and mouth scrunched up like he’s smelt something bad, never remembering how he started frowning in the first place. He releases the furrow his brow and sets his expression back to a more neutral one.

His shoulders are always the hardest to relax. So much tension built up from day after day of slouching over his laptop without ever changing positions. Dan decides to blow past his shoulders and back tonight. It’s a lost cause, anyway.

He moves on to his hips, which he can never tell whether he’s actually succeeded in relaxing or not. This frustrates Dan and a thought from the back of his mind threatens to make itself known if he doesn’t calm down. He flips onto his side and huffs out a defeated breath. _It’s nothing_ , Dan tells himself, _it’s literally just that you can’t relax your legs. Chill the fuck out._ His therapist tells him to stop talking to himself like this, to use positive reinforcement and be gentle with himself. But when it’s this late and this hot he can’t bother to follow every piece of advice she’s given him. He’s trying his best, or so he thinks. When he’s in a down spell like this sometimes it’s hard to remember what his best feels like.

For now, in his current state, he settles for believing he’s trying his best. At least he has music playing and is breathing. He can give himself credit for that. See? Positive reinforcement. Realizing he actually feels sort of okay brings a tiny smile to his lips, and Dan drifts to sleep.

_____

His face is buried in his pillow when he wakes up. His mouth is dry and the waistband of his boxers is twisted sideways, the seam rubbing jaggedly against the moist skin of his inner thigh. Dan unceremoniously flips onto his back, throwing his forearm over his eyes in attempt to fall back asleep. His eyelids are greeted with the clammy tack of his own skin.

His legs are adhered to his duvet, the fabric pulling unnaturally from its original orientation to wrap Dan up in a spider’s web of muggy sheets. He detangles himself from the mass of fabric and throws the duvet over the edge of his bed, only for the material to catch on his foot. His arm assumes position over his eyes and he lies there for a few still, humid moments before thanking his bladder for giving him a reason to get out of bed.

Dan peels himself from the sheet covering his mattress and pushes the damp curls away from his forehead. He rubs the now-slick hand on his shorts before trudging his way across the hall of his tiny flat to his bathroom. He squints at himself in the mirror, still dirty with duct tape residue from whomever inhabited this apartment before himself. He would be so much more attractive if he could find the energy to stand up straight.

His face looks old and tired, despite his twenty-two years of age and the immense amounts of sleep he’s been getting lately. He’s just so tired. His shirt is hanging from his shoulders, engulfing his thinning body in white-turned-tan cloth that reeked of sweaty nights alone. This shirt used to fit a little more snuggly, before he moved on his own to this little Manchester flat.

After pissing in the dingy toilet that he should really get around to cleaning, he rinses his face with cold water. Well, if only his tap ran cold water. Everything in his life seems to be lukewarm right now, as melodramatic as that sounds. It’s the best he can do, as showering seems to be about the most tiring thing he could bring himself to do today.

He rinses his mouth and watches as the drool drips from his lower lip to the sink below. Gross. He just feels so _gross_. He rambles back through the bare hallway, past the currently vacant second bedroom and into what was intended to be a living room. All Dan has managed to furnish the common area with is a worn-out grey sofa he had bought off a sketchy guy on Craigslist. Dan flops onto the dirty couch and settles into his favorite crease.

Two weeks have passed since he finally moved into his first real place, away from the cramped halls of Uni of Manchester and breaks spent at his family’s home. He’s a grown-ass man, he could no longer bear sleeping in his childhood home during his summer, as summer was inherently depressing enough. He couldn’t handle constantly being at school, the brick walls of his room closing in on him with every waking minute. Nothing like finally moving out on your own at twenty-two the summer before your last year at uni. Adulthood.

The new flat isn’t much better; it’s still small and ugly and dank, but at least it was just his. He’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to enjoy his first taste of proper adulthood, totally on his own until he finds a roommate to help with the rent. He’s dreading the search for a roommate. He doesn’t care what they’re like, per se, he is just so fucking terrified of being around another person all the time. Another pair of eyes to silently echo the self-deprecating voice in his head, to judge Dan’s sullen sedentary routine as they plaster a smile on their face and leave for their real-life functioning adult job.

It’s not like Dan doesn’t have a job, he does. He definitely doesn’t have a real-life functioning adult job, though. Dan makes his living as a freelance writer, sending short stories and articles to anyone who might publish them. Writing had always been the only thing he felt almost-good about, which was why he had decided to get his degree in English.

 _If I’m gonna get a degree at all, it might as well be in the only thing I’m good at,_ Dan remembers telling his parents during one of their long after-dinner discussions surrounding his university path. _That’s not the way it works, Daniel,_ his mother had replied. He knew it was serious when she used his full name. His voice softened, _I just… don’t get why I’m in uni in the first place if not to do something I like. I like writing. I’m good at it. Why can’t that be enough?_

The memory suffices as the kick in the ass Dan needs to do something productive today. Prove them wrong, he tells himself. He knows he is privileged to have a family that allows him to obtain a creative degree, however useless. But that acceptance is mostly a front, so his parents can assure themselves of how supportive they are. The feigned smiles and performative reassurance were enough for him when he was younger, always staying hopeful that he would show the world what he could do when he grew up. But here he was now, grown up, and still terrified of being a disappointment.

Despite this pressure, Dan likes his job just fine. It’s a creative outlet as well as a source of income, which isn’t that the dream? He had thought so. _Working freelance is supposed to be nice,_ he thinks. Loads of people would love to be their own boss, but for Dan, it just doesn’t work. His motivation is generally low and not having someone tell him what to do and when to do it feels freeing and terrifying all at the same time.

Dan stares blankly at the open word document on his laptop. The blinking line is taunting him to write _something, anything_. He lets out a sigh and tries his best to remember techniques from his creative writing classes at uni, but his summer brain has gone to absolute shit by now.

He told himself he’d do something productive today, though. Dan closes the word document and heads to google. After a bit of searching, he begins to type.

_Room for rent in Manchester. 2 bedroom 2 bathroom._  
_Uni of Manchester student searching for a roommate. Don’t be an asshole._

Simple enough, he supposes as he hovers his cursor over to the ‘Submit’ button. Dan fills his lungs and makes the deciding click. Looks like he’s become the sketchy guy on Craigslist, now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dan meets up with one of the two people who replied to his ad. it does not go well.

Days pass before Dan receives any emails regarding his ad. Every day like the one before, save for the growing tightness in his back and chest that always seems to make its way around when Dan is anticipating something.

As he’s pouring his second bowl of Crunchy Nut, Dan’s phone screen lights up to reveal a notification. He stops mid-pour to close his eyes and try to slow his heart rate. He knows the jokes and warnings about creeps on the internet, and he really isn’t keen on becoming a punchline today.

Dan sets down the box of cereal and checks the notifications on his phone. The email from Craigslist alerts him that his ad has had two replies, one from a fellow Uni of Manchester student called Jack, the other from a slightly older bloke called Phil.

Dan sends them each a copy of the same message, asking if and when they’d be able to meet him at the nearby Starbucks. Dan’s hands shake slightly as he awaits the replies, his cereal turning soggy. He hates soggy cereal. Dan pads across the kitchen to dump his mush into the sink, an attempt to distract himself from the anxious pit in his stomach threatening to make him sick.

There it is, the bell-like notification daring him to run back to his laptop and see who replied and with what. A message from Jack, telling him he’d be free later today, it that was alright by him.

Nothing yet from Phil.

_Right, then_ , Dan thinks. He should probably shower today. It’s been long enough for him to smell himself without trying and for his hand to feel slightly oily when he runs it through his hair. Besides, what if he has to impress this Jack guy?

_Oh fuck,_ Dan worries, what if he _wants_ to impress this Jack guy? 

It had been… a while since Dan had been with anyone in that way. Or in any way, really. His last year at Uni - his “hoe days” as he liked to call them - were probably the most recent action he’d gotten. He would like to believe it was due to the move and how “busy” he was, but he knew he had become a bit of a recluse this summer. As if that were different from any other summer. Dan shakes the thoughts from his head, sending tiny water droplets from his newly washed hair to cling to the dirty mirror before him. If this bloke was to be his roommate, he definitely, _definitely_ shouldn’t try to fuck him.

He’s jittery, to say the least. Dan rifles through his wardrobe, flicking past black t-shirt after black t-shirt until he finds the one that looks like four bandanas sewn together. People like color, right? He remembers hearing somewhere that people are turned off by dark colors, which is unfortunately 99% of his wardrobe. Besides, Dan wanted to look good. _He’s just a potential roommate,_ Dan has to remind himself. He really, _really_ hopes this guy is ugly.

_____

Dan’s knee is bouncing up and down in anticipation, eyes darting to the door every other second, watching each new patron to see if any would walk toward him. He had sent a follow-up email informing Jack of the ridiculously patterned t-shirt he’d be wearing, figuring it’d make him easier to spot.

Now he really wishes Jack had returned the favor.

Dan checks the time on his phone. His hands are shaking again. They had agreed to meet at 2 o’clock, and it’s now 2:04, which shouldn’t make Dan worry he had been stood up. Stood up, as if this were a date or something. Is he really that desperate?

2:05.

He hears the bell hanging above the door chime again, and Dan’s eyes flick upwards habitually. In walks a stocky lad wearing a red University of Manchester hoodie and black gym shorts. Dan’s heart skips a beat. That must be him. _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

Dan’s eyes rake over the man, whose neck is craned searching for something. Dan, presumably. He’s got sandy blonde hair that falls just below his ears, shaggy like a skater from teenage Dan’s fantasies. The maroon of the hoodie fits his broad shoulders snugly, leaving less to the imagination than a hoodie ought to. From what Dan can see, his legs are a deep golden brown and his calves are impressively toned. His eyes lock with Dan’s. He is _definitely_ not ugly.

Surprising himself, Dan waves over to the man standing at the door, who nods his head upward in response and heads his direction. A string of curse words run through Dan’s head as he stands to shake the stranger’s hand. He can see him more clearly now. Thick, dark brows frame even darker green eyes, eyes that are now flicking across Dan’s face, down to his feet and… _Fuck, is he checking him out?_

Dan abruptly yanks his hand away, flustered.

“Hi,” his voice comes out breathier than he had anticipated. He hopes the bloke standing in front of him doesn’t notice. “D’you wanna sit?” he asks, before following with, “You _are_ Jack, right”

The man reaches his hand behind the nape of his neck and scratches. “Yeah, I am. And I reckon I’ll get a drink first if that’s alright, mate.”

“Right, of course.” Somehow Dan had managed to forget they were in a Starbucks. He tries to play it off with a laugh but hides his reddened cheeks the second he resumes his seat in the booth.

Dan feels like he had blacked out for a moment. Where had all that bravery gone? Where was the Dan who decided to wave over a perfect stranger, not even realizing _anybody_ could be wearing his school’s hoodie? As soon as Jack walked up to him, Dan lost complete focus. God, had he even said his own name?

Jack returns moments later, iced americano in hand, and slides into the booth to sit opposite Dan.

“I realize I never told you, but, uh,  I’m Dan by the way.” His hand threatens to lift above the table to shake Jack’s. He’s done that already. Fuck. A lot of effort goes into not letting his face tighten in embarrassment.

“I know,” Jack replies coolly. He is visibly not as nervous as Dan. Possibly not nervous at all. “So how’d you know it was me?”

Dan gestures at the hoodie. “Lucky guess, I guess.” He cringes internally at his double usage of the word “guess”. It’s an incredibly nit-picky thing to be bothered by, and it bothers Dan that he’s even bothered by it in the first place.

“Oh, do you play?” Jack asks, seeming genuinely intrigued for the first time since they shook hands.

“What?” 

“Football,” Jack points to the logo under the “University of Manchester” graphic. Dan had missed that.

“Oh, no, just… just knew you were a student, that’s all” Dan takes a long swig of his now-cold coffee when he sees Jack’s expression return to boredom. “So, uh, what’re you getting your degree in?”

“Business,” he replies flatly.

Of course he is. But Dan shouldn’t judge him for that.

Jack takes a break from glaring at Dan to fake intrigue. “You?”

“English, well, Creative Writing, more specifically,” Dan says sheepishly.

“Oh,” he sounds surprised, yet disappointed, “you’re one of those… creative types are you?”

It’s not a question.

He suddenly feels impossibly more anxious looking across the table. Dan eyes drop to his coffee cup, terrified. Why did he grimace on the word “creative”? He’s got an idea of what that could mean, and it drains the blood from his face. His breath feels short.

He worries his perception is completely off.  Jack had seemed kind enough when Dan waved to him from across the Starbucks, right? Even though that seemed to change as soon as he came to shake Dan’s hand. Maybe Jack _was_ just nervous, that’s possible.

Dan _just_ met this bloke, he couldn’t possibly know if he was smart enough to weave subtle masculine judgement through his every word. But the quizzical look on his face coupled with the slight snarl of his lip tell Dan that his feelings of discomfort and fear might be valid. _Might_.

He isn’t usually the type to search for the good in people, but hell if he doesn’t need someone to help pay his rent.

“About the flat…” Dan starts, still staring at the paper cup between his hands.

“Right,” Jack clears his throat, gruffly this time. “I’m out a lot for football, even when there’s not practice, so, like, you’ll still have… privacy.” He smirks.

Dan wonders why he leaned into the last word so much. He doesn’t like it. Maybe it’s his predisposed aversion to jocks, but he’s starting to think this guy will have problem with him being, well, _him_.

“Not sure I know what you’re implying there,” Dan laughs nervously, failing to make eye contact.

Jack leans over the table and lowers his voice. “What, don’t you get a lot of pussy, mate?”

_Ew._ Dan thought he had already reached peak levels of unease for this conversation. He wasn’t expecting that, and he definitely wasn’t expecting to subconsciously smell Jack’s musky cologne when he leaned in. Dan shivers at the idea of a guy like this making him feel something like _that_. He pushes the thought out of his head, hoping it won’t resurface when he’s alone tonight.

“Quite the opposite, one might say.” He feels quite satisfied with his answer. Honest, but just vague enough to be open to interpretation. Jack’s heteronormative ass probably won’t think much of it.

But was that the point of this “pussy” thing? To force Dan to out himself? What if this guy was dangerous? It’s Craigslist, after all, and he’s a football player. He could be like one of the violent homophobic bullies from Dan’s earlier school years. He feels like he should run, do _anything_ to get out of this situation.

Jack settles back into his seat and chuckles hollowly. “We’ve got to fix that then, mate...”

Dan swallows. Hard.

“...we’ve got to get you _laid_.”

Dan bites down on his lip instinctively, his body reacting to the sudden husk in Jack’s voice, though his mind is repulsed by the content of his words.

He tries to laugh along, but the silence that escapes his mouth tells Jack more than words ever could.

Jack leans further away from Dan and shifts awkwardly in his seat. Perhaps he knows he crossed a line. Silence, still.

Dan wishes this would just be over, that he’d never have to speak with Jack again. After a first encounter like this, how could he?

Dan pulls his phone out for the first time to see how long he’d been sat here. It hadn’t even been 15 minutes since Jack sat down and he had managed to completely emotionally exhaust Dan, which, granted, isn’t hard to do.

“I’d better get goin’ then, mate,” Jack pipes up, doing nothing to ease the tension despite his obvious effort. Dan’s eyes follow him as he slides out of the booth, the rest of his body entirely immobilized, his mind attempting to process what just happened.

“Good to meet you.” he feigns a smile walks over to Dan, who remains glued to his seat.

Jack extends his hand toward Dan, expecting him to shake it. He doesn’t.

Jack reaches up to itch his neck the way he had before.

“We’ll be in touch, then?”

All Dan can do is nod.


	3. Chapter 3

Dan’s willing his feet to slow down as he walks from his apartment to Starbucks for the second time this week. His body tends to go faster than he means for it to when he’s anxious, and he certainly is thanks to how the last meeting went. 

He’s had a few days to get mostly over it, but all the tightly-wound nerves he felt then have resurfaced by the time he opens the door to the coffee shop.

The queue is non-existent, just a small older woman with whom Dan assumes to be her grandchildren and a tall man with black hair waiting for their orders to be filled. Dan walks up to place his usual order, his hands tapping feverishly against the side of his leg.

He hovers by the bar waiting for his drink, taking inventory of the folks who occupy the Starbucks. It takes him a second to realize he’s subconsciously searching for Phil, with absolutely no idea what he’s looking for. All he knows is he’s looking for a man named Phil. A man named Phil who is hopefully kinder than a man named Jack who happens to be his competitor for the spot in Dan’s flat. Phil’s got to be absolutely Satan in order to lose the spot to that asshole.

Dan’s weird angry hopeful train of thought is interrupted by the barista’s ringing voice.

“I’ve got two grande caramel macchiatos for, uh,” they squint to read the names on the cups, “Phil and Dan.”

Dan’s eyes go wide.  _ Phil.  _

He takes a deep breath. Phil is such a common name, literally any of the blokes in here could be called Phil. The likelihood of it being Phil-from-Craigslist who ordered the same exact drink as Dan is slim, to say the least.

But when he goes to grab the cup, he’s mirrored by the black-haired man in the red button up he’s been stood next to this whole time. Dan’s pulse skyrockets at the idea of  _ that _ being Phil-from-Craigslist.

The man is tall, taller than Dan with the help of the heel of his black leather boots. His arms are speckled with tattoos and his hair is tossed into a perfectly-messy-looking quiff. Not what Dan expected for a guy called Phil. 

When his eyes get to his face, Phil is staring back.

The man lets out an airy chuckle and glances toward the floor. “Dan?” 

“Yeah?” His heart is absolutely  _ pounding. _

“I’m Phil,” the man says, hand lifting to give Dan a tiny wave.

A tiny fucking  _ wave _ . Eyes glued to Dan’s and mouth hugged by a warm smile.

Dan is just stunned, trying with everything he has not to let his jaw physically drop.

“I know?” is all he can muster and, fuck, it sounds so much ruder than he intended.

Phil’s expression goes half flat, half questioning, “Shit, you are  _ my _ Dan, right? Dan-from-Craigslist?”

This is so weird. It’s just so fucking  _ weird _ , but Dan laughs and goes along with the day the universe seems to have set for him.

“Right! Yeah, Dan-from-Craigslist, good to meet ya.” Dan sticks out his hand to shake Phil’s.

Phil chuckles a little bit, but it doesn’t feel mocking, just… friendly. He covers his smile with a hand. The corners of his striking blue eyes crinkle with the laugh. Striking, that’s a good word for him. The blue of his eyes and the dyed-blackness of his hair against his pale skin is just striking, and all that coupled with his ripped black jeans and plaid button up, well, Dan should feel intimidated. In most cases, he would feel remarkably uncool in the presence of someone like this, but watching Phil smile, there’s just no room for discomfort.

He must be staring, because Phil does that little laugh and look at the ground thing before lifting his cup and excitedly exclaiming, “Macchiato buds!”

And Dan giggles like a fucking schoolgirl. 

“I guess so. Cheers,” he says, clinking their paper cups together, “should we go sit?”

“Sounds good,” Phil grins. 

Any nerves Dan had leading up to this moment have absolutely vanished, and the lack of nerves is almost enough to make his head start to spin. He should be nervous, after all, he always is. Maybe this is a dream, something his brain has concocted to put him at ease. Maybe he’s supposed to wake up and meet the real Phil in the morning.

Dan ets the steam from his coffee cup and the sweetness of this man he’s just met wash away the thought. He deserves to feel good sometimes, even if only in dreams. 

“Here good?” Phil gestures towards the booth they’ve ended up at. 

Dan nods in response and slides in.

“So, tell me about  yourself, Phil.” It suddenly feels so unnatural, the reason for their meeting hitting Dan in the chest, reminding him this isn’t serendipitous at all. It feels like an interruption of what could be a genuine conversation. Phil doesn’t seem to care.

“Well, I’m from Rawtenstall, and I just finished my Master’s at York,” Phil starts, “which I guess is why I need a place to live.”

Impressive. He should feel threatened. He should feel small in comparison to this effortlessly cool dresser with the Master’s degree and charming personality, but Dan is so much more interested in getting to know Phil than he has been in anything else recently. 

“What’d you study?” He tries not to appear to eager.

“English language and linguistics,” Phil looks shy all of the sudden, “waste of six years, I know.”

“No way.” The words escape Dan’s mouth and he leans into the conversation unknowingly. He winces momentarily at how dorky he must look, but Phil does that comforting warm laugh again and the scrunch of Dan’s face melts.

“Did you like it?” he tries to continue.

“I did, actually,” Phil beams and his voice is warm, “I really loved it.”

Dan feels proud that he took part in that smile, that it wasn’t just a polite-nice-guy thing. 

“What about you?” Phil inquires, taking a sip from his cup, “Tell me all about Dan-from-Craigslist’s time at Manchester.”

“I’m actually studying English, too. Creative Writing, though.” It’s comforting to know he and Phil have that one thing in common. Phil won’t make a face at him like Jack did. He doesn’t think Phil will ever do anything the way Jack did.

“I envy you,” Phil chuckles, again. He’s giggly, this one. Giggly and comfortable and nice and inviting. “I always wished I could write but I haven’t got a creative bone in my body.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true, I mean, look at your tattoos!”

If Phil doesn’t care about how overzealous he’s being, why should he?

“That’s kind of you to say, Dan”

That feels good. Hearing him say his name in such an earnest way feels good. 

“It’s not like I designed any of them myself though,” he continues, laying his arms on the table and looking down at the ink, “I had a friend in uni who worked at a shop and she’d always want to practice on me. One day I’ll give you a full tour, promise”

The word promise rings in Dan’s ears and he knows this won’t be the last time he gets to talk with Phil. He rests his chin comfortably on his palm, smiling as he tells Phil how he’s always wanted tattoos, but has always been way too afraid of permanence.

Maybe that fear subsides when Phil gives him a reassuring nod.

Maybe he wants permanence.

He smiles, and the more Dan learns about Phil the deeper he wants to go, the more he wishes they’d never leave this booth.

He’s never met such an interesting person before, and every time he imagined meeting someone this unique and complex, he feared he’d pale in comparison. But sitting across from the man with high cheekbones, Dan fully lets go of his inhibitions as he and Phil bond over literature and emo phases and food and video games.

_ Literature and emo phases and food and video games _ . Dan has to refrain from pinching his own thigh under the table. It’s almost too much to think about all the commonalities they share. But he sees the kind smile of this not-so-stranger drinking a caramel macchiato and talking to him about Crash Bandicoot and Dan’s head is swirling but not in a bad way and… it feels like fate.

It feels like maybe Dan might make a real friend for once.

Phil pulls his phone out of his pocket, and it’s the only time he’s looked away from Dan since they sat down.

“Fucking hell, it’s almost 5 o’clock, I should be heading home,” Phil almost groans, shifting in his seat.

“Oh,” Dan sounds a little too sad. He knows he’ll see Phil again. He knows it. There’s no way he’s letting him leave this Starbucks without offering him the room in his flat.

“Yeah, I know,” Phil frowns lightly, “my mum likes to have dinner with the whole family whenever we can and, since I’m living with them again…”

“Not for long,” Dan surprises himself. He’s not sure if he meant to say that aloud.

Phil looks at him with a slightly cocked brow.

“And what do you mean by that?” His tone is light and teasing, and Dan thinks he knows exactly what he means. At least he hopes he does.

“The room’s yours, mate,” Dan laughs, “If you want it, I mean”. He questions briefly if he may have jumped to conclusions and misread the signs, but the thought is immediately quieted by the excited smile that spreads across Phil’s cheeks. 

Dan can’t wait to see that smile again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to nessa and skyler for your help with this chapter <33333

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic be gentle uwu


End file.
